Five Kisses that Didn't Happen and Two that Did
by hoidn
Summary: What it says on the tin. [NOW COMPLETE]
1. One that Didn't (Bad Water)

I've always said that I hate WIPs and now I am committing one. Don't judge me! My consolation is that each 'chapter' is its own little vignette, so even if I never finish 'all' the kisses, I'm not leaving anybody hanging. So to speak.

As always, concrit is most welcome.

* * *

Sully lay there, taut as a bowstring, as far away from Dr Mike as he could get and still be out of the rain. His hand on her hip was the warmest part of him. It felt as though every sense he had was located there, on the rounded curve of her body where her fingers threaded through his. In front of him, her hair was a dark mass above her head. Somehow he could still feel it, soft as cornsilk under his fingers. The scent of her fancy soap mingled with the rain and made him want things he had no business wanting.

He tried to breathe deep and even and prayed she'd fall asleep quickly, or that the rain would stop. But it seemed the spirits weren't listening to him that night.

"You should come closer to the fire and get out of that wet shirt," she said.

"I'm fine."

She turned her head back towards him. "Sully, don't be stubborn. You're soaking wet. If you stay like that all night you'll catch a chill."

Knowing there was no use in arguing with her, he sighed and sat up, pretending he didn't miss the feel of her hand holding his. She moved back to give him more room as he tried to crawl to the fire without touching her. Stripping his shirt off was difficult; it clung to him like a heavy skin. Once he'd wrestled it off - feeling absurdly self-conscious the entire time - he held it outside the shelter and wrung it as best he could. Although it was no longer dripping, it would still take most of the night to dry.

As he crouched by the fire he admitted to himself that even though he was still wet he _was_ warmer.

"Do you want the blanket?" Her soft voice came out of the darkness. When he looked over at her, she was barely visible, just the suggestion of a dark shape against an even deeper darkness.

He shook his head and felt wet rivulets snake down his arms and back from his hair. "No, you keep it," he told her.

"We could share."

It was an innocent suggestion, he knew. She was just trying to be helpful the way she always was. That didn't stop his pulse from speeding up or images from flickering through his mind that were best not dwelt on. But he knew he needed sleep; they both did.

She held the blanket open as he crawled back to where she lay. Now they were facing each other, her knees drawn up against his thighs. The blanket didn't quite reach all the way around him, but the fire at his back kept him from being cold. He was more concerned about her.

"Are you warm enough?"

She made a little humming sound, then yawned and closed her eyes. "Except my feet." Her voice had gone drowsy. "They're always cold. I miss my hot water bottle."

"Surprised you didn't bring it with you," Sully said lightly.

Her mouth curved into a small smile. "You would've made me leave it behind anyway," she retorted.

He huffed out a soft laugh. It was a nice way of saying 'I told you so' he guessed. Maybe he owed her something for making her leave the tent behind.

That's what he told himself as he reached down and took one of her feet in his hands. Her eyes flew open and she stared at him. He waited for her to pull away or get mad, but instead she just closed her eyes again. "You're so warm," she whispered.

He felt her relax as he moved his hands gently against her stockings, careful not to touch anything other than her foot. It was so small he could almost hold it entirely in one hand. After a few minutes she wiggled her toes and smiled, and he switched to the other foot.

When it seemed she'd fallen asleep, he tucked her foot back beside the other. She surprised him by placing a hand over his and squeezing gently . "Thank you, Sully."

"You're welcome," he told her, though it felt dishonest, somehow, to accept her thanks for doing something he'd liked so much.

She shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable he supposed, and then grew still. He watched her face relax as she fell into sleep, remembering another night he'd done the same thing.

When he was sure she was asleep, he reached out to smooth away a piece of hair that had fallen across her face. Her skin was cool and soft against his fingers, exactly as he remembered. Unable to deny himself this one thing, he leaned over slowly and pressed his lips lightly against her cheek. He pulled back and watched her for a moment, feeling things he didn't want to name, then lay down.

With the sound of the rain and her soft breaths in his ears, he followed her into sleep.


	2. another that didn't (Running Ghost)

In his dreams there's water. A bank of soft grass by a small, shallow stream. In the stream bed are smooth, round stones. Under the clear water their colours are browns, mossy greens, soft greys. They seem to shift and change with the movement of the water, with the glint of the sun. No two are alike.

o

For the first few days of his recovery, Sully passes in and out of sleep like a doorway from one room to the next. The pain follows him in both directions. He wakes frightened by his helplessness and angry at his fear.

Always there is a small, steady pair of hands and a soft voice to soothe him.

o

The dream water is cool in his throat, against his skin. He lies on the grass and watches the play of light on the stones, dazzled.

There is nothing else he wants.

o

His ribs ache and his body is covered in fading bruises. His legs are useless. Despite Dr Mike's optimism, there's been no improvement. He can't move or feel anything below his hips.

Under the frustration at his weakness is a hard, sharp core of despair.

Matthew rubs Cloud Dancing's salve onto his legs. If he turns his head it's as if nothing is happening at all.

Dr Mike's face is unguarded when he makes himself look at her, the worry plain. She meets his gaze and her eyes are clear as water, the colours of his dreams. They hide nothing.

He looks away, laid bare, defeated.

His left foot twitches.

o

Mid-morning and he's sitting on the porch steps. It's been three days since he started walking again and now he can make it out to the yard on his own.

The sunlight is warm and the air smells sweet. After weeks of being cooped up indoors, it's a relief to be outside. He closes his eyes and thinks about nothing in particular.

Inside, the kettle whistles. He opens his eyes as he hears a light tread behind him. Dr Mike sits on the step next to him and hands him a cup. "It's a beautiful day," she says.

"It is," he agrees.

She's been washing. Her sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, the fabric covered in damp, clinging spots. She's holding her own cup in both hands, warming them. Up close, her wrists look small and delicate, the insides of her arms so pale he can see the blue veins running under the skin. He knows how soft that skin is.

He's spent almost three weeks sleeping in her bed, between her sheets, under her watchful doctor's eyes. It's only increased his fascination with her: this strange, fragile, complicated thing between them. He feels the danger of it even as he lets it pull him in.

They sit in an easy silence, almost but not quite touching. From the other side of the house he can hear Colleen and Brian's voices, the sounds but not the words. He sips his tea and winces at the bitterness, glances again at Dr Mike.

This morning her hair is down, held back from her face by combs at the sides. It's so long it touches the step she's sitting on. In the sun her hair is even prettier than it is in firelight. It seems almost to spark with flashes of honey and molasses, a copper gloss like a waterfall.

From the corner of his eye he watches her blow across the surface of her tea to cool it. He tries not to notice the shape of her mouth or the way her bottom lip sticks slightly to the rim of the cup after she takes a sip.

She licks her lip and he has to look away.

It's good, he thinks, that he won't need to be staying here much longer. Eyes resolutely forward, he drinks his tea.

From behind them comes a crash and Colleen's outraged voice. "Brian! Look what you did! I told you not to touch it!"

Sully turns to Dr Mike. Almost in chorus, both Brian and Colleen call out for her.

"Ma!"

"Dr Mike!"

She raises her eyebrows and quirks her mouth into a half smile. He reaches out to take her cup as she rises, the movement of her skirts like a sigh in the air around him.

In his hand, her cup is warm and still half full. He sets his own down on the step and turns hers between his palms so that he's holding it as she had. His thumb runs along the rim as he stares into the dark liquid. A foolish, schoolboy notion settles into his head and makes his heart beat faster. It's impossible to resist.

Slowly, he brings the cup to his mouth, placing his lips over the imprint of hers. He takes a sip. When he pulls the cup away, he licks his lower lip and feels a pang of disappointment. There's no trace of her taste there, just the tea.

He swipes his thumb against the cup, smudging the place where their mouths overlapped, knowing it's as close to kissing her as he'll probably ever come.

He tells himself it shouldn't matter.


	3. this one didn't (Where the Heart Is)

(i just wanted to take a second to say thank you to everyone who has left a review for me as a 'guest'. i hate that i can't thank you individually, but i'm afraid this will have to do.)

Our scene begins mid-episode when Michaela and Sully have just returned to Mama Quinn's house after the opera. (I feel like there should be stage curtains or something.)

* * *

"Wait," he says, as she turns to leave. "Stay and talk with me a while."

She looks back at him uncertainly and he gestures towards the darkened sitting room. "I shouldn't," she says, glancing up the stairs. "Mother will have one of the maids waiting up to help me."

Sully doesn't know what to say to persuade her, or even what made him ask in the first place. There's no real reason, only he doesn't want her to go. He wants just a little more time with her all to himself and that's not something he's prepared to say out loud.

The clock in the hall ticks, ticks, ticks.

"Will you give me a few minutes?" she asks, finally.

He nods and watches her walk up the stairs. At the top, she looks back down at him with an unreadable expression before disappearing from his sight.

In the sitting room, he lights one of the lamps and takes off his jacket and tie, unbuttoning his collar. Too restless to sit, he roams the room, examining the shadows. His time in Boston has shown him the greatness of the gulf that lies between the life he knows and the one she comes from. It's made him admire her even more for what she's built for herself in Colorado. He's never met anyone like her, doesn't think there _could_ be anyone like her. She is the most challenging, frustrating, extraordinary person he's ever known.

He hears her coming down the stairs as he's staring out the window and turns in time to see her walk into the room. She's wearing what he thinks of as one of her Colorado dresses. Her hair is down her back in curls and her feet are bare. Less fancy than in her Boston clothes, he likes her better this way. This is the woman he knows. The one who's faced down soldiers and warriors. The one who taught herself to ride and cook and sew. The one who's saved his life.

She sits on the sofa in a pool of light and smiles at him and he is drawn to her like a moth. All night she has been beautiful, but here, now, is the loveliest he's ever seen her. He wants to hold her hand again as he did when they were dancing. He wants to feel the warm press of her thigh against his as he did in the carriage. He's tired of fighting this need he has to be close to her, to have her smile just for him. An entire evening of granted wishes has left him defenceless.

"What did you think of the opera?" she asks as he sits next to her.

He tries to think of something polite to say. "It was interestin'."

She laughs. "That's very diplomatic."

"You liked it?" he asks, because that's what's important.

"Very much." A softness comes over her face. "My father used to take us to the opera when I was younger. I don't think my mother or my sisters ever liked it especially, but I fell in love with it the very first time. Something about the grandness of it all, the way no one is afraid to feel anything or to acknowledge it, even though it almost always ends in tragedy. There's something courageous about that, I think."

"Like you."

A slight shake of her head. "No, I don't think so."

"I think so."

She bites her lip and looks away and he wonders if he's said something wrong.

"You waltz very well," she says after a moment.

"I had a good teacher."

"Oh? Anyone I know?"

He smiles at the recollection. "Colleen."

"Colleen? But... when?"

"Yesterday."

She looks stunned. "You learned to waltz yesterday?"

He nods.

"Why?"

He looks down to where her hands are folded neatly in her lap, stretches out one finger and runs it slowly along the side of her wrist. "You know why."

She holds very still as he repeats the caress.

"Sully, why did you come to Boston?"

"I told you, I got worried."

"You could have sent a telegram."

That makes him pause. The truth is it hadn't occurred to him. He hadn't questioned his need to see her for himself. And he'd never allowed himself to think too hard on what it was that had him worried in the first place.

"Are you sayin' I shouldn't have come?"

Her hand covers his. "No, I'm glad you came. I just - it's such a long way..."

She trails off as he turns his hand under hers so they are palm to palm. Her fingers curl a little into his, natural as breathing. Her hands are a marvel to him, so small yet so capable. She has cut into folks, sewn them up, saved his life with those hands. Just the touch of them makes his heart beat faster.

"I missed you," he says unevenly.

"You did?"

He swallows hard. "All your friends in Colorado Springs miss you."

"All my friends." Some of the brightness leaves her face. "Is that what we are, Sully? Friends?"

He hesitates, unable to judge her tone or expression. "I thought so."

"And that's all?" Her voice is so careful, her eyes searching his in the dim light.

"Ain't that enough?"

She looks at him for a moment before pulling her hand from his grasp. "No," she says in a low voice. "I don't think it is."

His heart freezes inside his chest.

The clock in the hall chimes once, deep and hollow. "It's late. I should go to bed." She stands and looks down at him, her eyes not quite meeting his. "Goodnight, Sully."

What he hears is goodbye. He grabs at her hand. "Don't go."

"Sully, I'm tired. Please." Her voice catches on the last word and she tries to pull away, still not looking at him.

He holds on tight. "When are you comin' home?"

"This is my home."

"No, it's not. Not anymore. You told me that. You told me Colorado Springs is your home now."

"I thought it was. I don't know anymore." She sounds small and lost and it hurts him to hear.

"It is," he tells her fiercely. "You know it is."

She shakes her head, not in denial but in confusion. He knows he has to convince her now; he has never been more sure of anything in his life. The fear of losing her this way galvanises him. He will beg if he has to.

"Please come home."

"Why?" she whispers.

He looks up at her beautiful, vulnerable face. All his caution and uncertainty, all the reasons he's tried to hide from her and from himself, fall away.

"Because I love you."

She sinks back down onto the sofa, eyes wide, mouth open.

He shifts closer and kisses her knuckles, turns her hand over to press his lips against the pulse at her wrist. All the while he holds her gaze with his, not letting her look away.

He reaches out to brush a lock of hair from her face. As his fingers follow the curl down over her shoulder, her eyes close and her hand holds tighter to his. Something surges through his body at this invitation, makes his pulse race.

Fingertips on her chin, he leans in until he can feel her breath light and fast against his lips. Her lashes are long and dark against her skin and he has the sudden urge to kiss her there, on the high arch of bone just under her eye. But her mouth is so close, her chin tilted just slightly, and he is utterly, utterly lost.

Their first kiss lasted barely longer than a breath yet it's stayed with him all this time. Now he wonders how he could have forgotten the exact sensation of her mouth under his, how he could have waited so long to feel it again. She shivers slightly as he slides his hand under her hair, cradling her head. Trying to hold as much of her as he can, to absorb her into his skin. She is a fever in him; his need for her shakes him to the bone. He tries to rein in his feelings but she's kissing him back, leaning into him, one hand clutching his, her other on his thigh like a brand, marking him as her own.

And he is.

It's the sound of the clock chiming the quarter hour that allows him to finally break away. She opens her eyes and looks at him with flushed cheeks and a shy smile.

"I love you, too."

Joy bursts within him, dammed for so long it's almost pain. He holds tight to both of her hands like a drowning man. Somewhere in him he knew, he's always known, but to hear her say it, to have her look at him as though he is all she's ever wanted is almost more than he can bear.

"So you'll come home?" he asks, when he can speak.

Her laugh ripples sweetly between them. "Yes."

"Good," he says, leaning in to kiss her again. "That's good."

* * *

according to wikipedia, clocks didn't start chiming the quarter hour until the early 20th century but guess how much i care about this piece of historical accuracy.


	4. the first one that did (Epidemic)

Their conversation about the Cheyenne medicine bothered him, but it wasn't until the incident at the general store that Sully understood why. He looked at Jake leaning against the post, watched Hank swagger off with a sneer, and realised he was too used to the people of Colorado Springs and their suspicion of anything they didn't know.

What he'd said to Dr Mike had been wrong.

He went back to the boarding house and found her upstairs, sponging Mrs Thompson. Standing in the doorway, Sully took in the droop of her shoulders and the pallor of her face.

"You should get some rest," he said.

The basin in her hands made a clinking sound as she set it down and turned to face him wearily. "I can't. There are too many people who need my help."

"You can't help 'em if you wear yourself out."

"I'm fine."

"You ain't fine."

"What else can I do, Sully? People are dying and I can't save them. I simply don't have the resources."

He took a few steps into the room and crouched down next to her chair. "More people'd be dead if it wasn't for you. Think about all the people you're savin'."

"I just don't know what to do anymore," she confessed. "Maybe you were right. Maybe I should try some of the Cheyenne medicine."

Sully shook his head. "What you said's true. It could make people sicker if you don't know how to use it right."

"I feel so helpless." Her eyes dropped down to where her hands had left damp spots on her skirt.

The sheen of sweat on her face and the shadows under her eyes had him worried. "You eaten anythin' today?"

"Hmm?" She looked up at him blankly for a moment. "I had some soup earlier, I think."

Before he could tell her that she needed to eat to keep her strength up, Colleen rushed in, breathless. "Dr Mike, Mr Hutchins just brought in little Billy. He's real bad."

"Thank you, Colleen. I'll be right there."

Sully stood up to let her pass. "You need anythin', I'll be over at Robert E's," he said as she started for the door.

Her smile when she turned back was wan but sincere. "Thank you, Sully."

-o-

There were too many people to bury, too many coffins to be made. Sully worked with Robert E building them through the afternoon. Aside from their sawing and hammering, the air was strangely quiet. No kids were playing, no raucous laughter drifted from the saloon. Fear hovered like a mist over the town, smothering everything.

Towards evening, they packed away their tools. As the air cooled, they leaned against the fence next to the forge and looked across at the boarding house.

"Dr Mike's a nice lady," said Robert E, taking a swig from his canteen.

"Yeah, she is."

"Real pretty, too."

Sully eyed his friend warily. "I guess."

"And a doctor. Be a lucky man to catch a woman like that."

"You think a woman like that's gonna marry a rancher?" Sully snorted. "Or maybe Jake Slicker?"

Robert E shrugged. "Reverend's a good man. Got an education."

"All he knows is preachin' and the Bible. He ain't smart enough for her." Sully bit into a piece of jerky and chewed a little harder than necessary. For some reason the conversation unsettled him. "When'd you start matchmakin' anyway?"

"Just been thinkin' that a lady who's got some kinda tie here gonna be more likely to stick around. This town sure needs a doc like her."

"She's got the Cooper kids."

Taking his cap off, Robert E splashed water over his face and neck. "No reason she's gotta stay here with 'em. Could take 'em back to Boston if she wanted."

"She wouldn't do that," Sully said quickly. "She wouldn't just take 'em away from everyone they know, everyone who cares about 'em."

"Might do, she don't find a good reason to stay. Ain't like the town's all that welcomin' to her even now." Robert E pulled his cap back on and wiped at his face with one sleeve. "She might just decide one day to go back home."

Sully felt something knot in his gut, but said nothing. Over the roofs of the town, the sky was stained red, bleeding to purple as the sun inched down the horizon. Shadows grew longer and blended into each other like drops of water sliding down a pane. Every window in the boarding house glowed with light, the sign of a town fighting not to be wiped out.

_She wouldn't just leave_, Sully told himself. But a small kernel of doubt lodged deep down that he couldn't shake.

-o-

He stayed close to town that night. Under the stars he thought about home, about family.

Water was where he came from, but home was the plains and mountains he'd come to find. As a boy working on the docks, people were always telling him about the freedom of the ocean, but as far as Sully could figure it was no better than a wall, the blank edge of the world. To him the ocean was just another kind of desert, one you couldn't even walk on. A man could die of thirst in either place.

The path he had taken away from the city that killed both his parents was almost a straight line heading west. Sully had never been to Boston, but he knew it was a city by the ocean too. He wondered if it was that same blank wall that had brought Dr Mike to Colorado after her pa died, looking for something she could call her own.

He wondered about her a lot.

Somehow she'd crept into his head and he found his thoughts circling back to her more and more. He'd see something and want to show it to her, or he'd think of something he wanted to tell her. She had a curiosity about everything, was almost as bad as Brian about asking questions. But he liked talking to her, liked listening to her. And he liked watching her. Wherever she was, his eyes were drawn there. Without his permission, without his even being aware of it, his gaze followed her, like a compass swinging north.

On his back, looking up at the stars, Sully tried again to get Robert E's words out of his mind. He didn't want to think about her leaving, didn't want to think about why the idea of it had him so uneasy.

The truth was that Michaela Quinn shook him. She stirred up things in him he'd thought long buried. They were things he didn't want to face, wasn't ready to face; they weighed heavy on his heart. But every time he took himself away, he found an excuse to return. To see her, be near her. If she left Colorado, he knew, there'd be no excuse that could take him far enough.

-o-

He fell asleep thinking about her gone and in the morning she fainted in his arms.

Time stopped moving the way it was supposed to.

He carried her into the boarding house, the heat of her skin searing him even through her clothes. She was wet with sweat, pieces of her hair plastered to her face and neck. All his gladness at Brian's recovery was subsumed in cold, sticky fear.

Matthew went for Cloud Dancing. Sully waited, holding on. Time jerked along, speeding up and slowing down; things happened as they did in the logic of dreams.

She was face-down on the bed, uncovered to the dip of her tiny waist. He was caught as any animal in a snare. Time held still. All that bare skin gleaming and her hair splayed out across the pillow. The smooth plane of her back and the indent of her spine just wide enough for a man's thumb to slide down. Desire twisted in him shamefully, but he couldn't look away. Underneath the want was a tenderness that made him afraid. A longing to protect her, keep her safe. If he could have taken the sickness from her body into his own to spare her, he would have.

Time jumped, crossed over. He carried her, cradled her. She smelled of sweat and smoke, healing herbs. He fell into a shallow sleep by her bed, restless dreams.

"Will she live?" he demanded again and again. The answer was always the same. A bird wing brushed his skin. Fire crackled. Or was it a voice?

"Sully?"

He woke with a start, grabbing for her reaching hand. It took him a moment to grasp that she was awake, fever broken. All at once time slid back into its rhythm as if it had never strayed.

"Don't go away," he told her, foolish with joy. "Don't go away."

As Olive and the children left, she sank back into sleep as quickly as she'd woken. Sully hovered over her carefully, studying her face. With the flush of the fever gone, her skin was pale again, her damp hair spread like a dark halo against the sheets.

Moving slowly, he bent to smooth the hair from her forehead and pressed a kiss against her temple. Cloud Dancing's words came back to him from the healing ritual, from his dream. They were connected now, he knew. Their spirits. Her life and his.

He studied her a moment more, wondering, then blew out the lamp and found his way in the dark.


	5. this definitely didn't (Law of the Land)

_palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss_

* * *

The morning dawns cool and clear. In every direction, the wide sweep of sky is nothing but blue as far as the horizon. It's a hopeful kind of day and Sully decides to stop by the homestead on his way into town to see Robert E.

He and Wolf walk the back way, down past the barn, and find Colleen on the porch shelling peas.

"Mornin'."

"Mornin', Sully."

"You all by yourself today?"

"Matthew and Dr Mike went into town a while ago but Brian's around somewhere. With his deer," she adds, rolling her eyes in a way that Sully thinks must be particular to older sisters. He covers the laugh that wants to come out by clearing his throat.

Colleen pops a pea into her mouth and offers Sully the bowl. He takes one and feels the bright green burst of it on his tongue.

"I gotta finish these before Brian comes back, otherwise he'll eat 'em all and there'll be none for supper." Colleen's small fingers move quickly, deftly, separating the little round peas from their shells.

Sully looks up, losing the thread of his thoughts when he sees the boards nailed over the front window. "What happened?"

Colleen turns at his gesture and then faces him again looking uneasy. "Uh, Matthew put that up this morning 'cause the glass got broken."

"How'd it get broken?"

"Somebody threw a rock through it."

Something about the way she says it tells him it wasn't an accident. "Who?"

"I don't know." Colleen concentrates intently on the peas. There's a tense, strained expression that Sully hates to see on her face.

Crouching down in front of her, he waits for Colleen to look at him. "I hope you know I'm your friend." At her nod, he continues, "And I'd never let anyone hurt you, or your brothers, or your ma if I could help it."

She nods again and offers him a small smile. "I really don't know who it was. But they came last night when we were havin' supper. We were just sittin' at the table and talkin' and then the window broke and there were men outside shoutin' things."

Sully reins in a hot flush of anger. "Was anybody hurt?" he says, very calmly.

"Dr Mike burned her hand when the lamp got knocked over. But Matthew got the shotgun and scared 'em away."

"You and Brian all right?"

Colleen shrugs. "We didn't get hurt, but it was scary when it happened. It seemed like it was real slow but real fast at the same time, you know?" She stares past his shoulder, across the yard. "Why would they do that, Sully? Dr Mike's just tryin' to help Jon."

_Because they're cowards_, Sully thinks. "Some folks need to blame other people for their troubles. They'll try to make you do what they want you to by makin' you afraid."

"I don't think Dr Mike's afraid. I think she's just mad."

Sully can't help but smile. "That sounds about right."

-o-

On the way into town, Sully lets himself feel the anger, the belated fear. Someone came on to his land in the night to frighten a woman and her children. Anyone who would do something like that is no kind of man as far as he's concerned.

Guilt eats at him as he walks. Though he knows there's no reason for it, he can't help but feel in some way responsible. Maybe if he'd been camped nearer he would've heard something, could've done something. Sully believes in protecting the people he cares for, but this is a situation with no clear path that he can see. Even though he's always welcomed at the homestead, he knows he has no real place there. He's not family; he has no right.

But while he's spent almost two years avoiding the homestead and its ghosts, now it has a pull on him that has nothing to do with the past. And maybe that's part of the guilt, too.

-o-

The clinic door is open when he walks up and Dr Mike is standing over by the window. She looks just the same as she always does except for the bandage wrapped around her hand. Wolf lays himself down in the shade of the porch and Sully stands in the doorway, trying to settle himself.

When she turns and sees him, a glad smile breaks across her face, as though he's the person she most wanted to find at her door. It makes something jump inside him fast and sharp as she crosses the room. "Good morning, Sully."

"Mornin'."

"How are you?"

"Fine. You?"

"I'm well, thank you."

He sees his chance and takes it. "Doesn't look that way," he says with a nod at her hand.

"Oh—" she looks down at it as if she'd forgotten "—it's nothing."

"Looks more like somethin' than nothin'."

"Just a minor burn," she says lightly, waving it away. As if it were an accident that happened while she was baking or tending to a patient.

Sometimes Sully just wants to pick her up and shake her.

"I went by the homestead this mornin'," he says instead, following her inside as she steps back into the clinic.

"Was there something you needed?"

He ignores the question. "Colleen told me what happened last night."

"I see." Dr Mike looks a little guilty but doesn't say anything else.

The anger he's managed to tamp down rises again, finding a focus. "Were you even gonna tell me about it?" he demands.

"Sully, I'm sorry about the window. I'll replace it just as soon as Loren can get me the glass."

Baffled hurt fills him at her response, fuelling the anger, charging his voice. "You think I care about the window?"

"I—"

"You got hurt!" He cuts her off, moving into her space, close enough to see the shadows under her eyes. "You could've been hurt worse, or the kids." He's so angry at her he can hardly contain it. How can she think so little of him after all this time? How can she be so stubborn? Make him care so much?

Her eyes are wide with shock. "Really, Sully, it's hardly anything. It probably won't even leave a scar. Here," she says, unwinding the bandage and holding out her hand like a peace offering.

The burn is on the edge of her palm: a long stripe of red, raised flesh. But there's no blistering and the skin around it looks healthy. Without thinking, he cups her hand in his, raising it slightly to see. At the feel of her soft, cool skin, his anger dissipates and every tightly wound place inside him releases.

"Sully, you must know how much I appreciate the way you look out for us," she says in a gentle voice, "but you can't be there all the time. I have to make decisions about the best way to handle situations and my decision is to just put this behind us. There's little point in drawing attention to the incident when we don't even know who those men were. I will not be bullied or frightened into doing something that I believe is wrong."

"No," he says, looking up from her hand. "I know you won't."

Sunlight streams through the windows, casting warm, honeyed light across the floor. They are standing close enough for Sully to catch the faint scent of lemons from her skin, close enough for him to see the golden tips of her lashes.

"I'm sorry you were worried," she says quietly.

Sully shakes his head, not wanting anything to spoil this harmony between them. "I'm sorry I got angry."

Her hand is still resting in his and she is watching him, curiosity and something else he can't name in her eyes. He has never seen eyes like hers before, didn't even know they were possible. But if anyone could have impossible eyes, he thinks, it would be her.

His thumb begins to stroke across the centre of her palm and he feels her fingers curl inward. "Does that tickle?"

"A little," she says, hushed as though sharing a secret.

Looking down, he admires her long, elegant fingers, the short, neat nails. With his other hand he traces them one at a time and she moves against him slightly so they catch and slide, brushing skin against skin. It's not a new sensation—he's touched her hand before—so he doesn't know why it sparks through him as though his body is tinder, as though he's the one who's been burned.

His fingers stretch further, tracing the line of her wrist over the delicate blue veins, and he thinks he hears her breath catch. He looks up. "Does it hurt?"

Her eyes are fixed on his and she swallows before shaking her head.

Mindful of her injury, he lays his palm gently against hers so that her hand is cradled between both of his own. The tips of her fingers press warm on his wrist like tiny kisses. His blood feels thick and hot in his veins, his thundering heart.

He hears her whisper his name just a moment before a footfall, and then a voice calls out, "Mornin', Dr Mike. Hi, Sully."

Dr Mike's hand jerks from his just as he steps back. "Good morning, Emily," she says brightly, turning to bind up her hand. "I'll just be a moment."

Emily is cheerful as always, carrying one of her boys and chattering away. Sully's head feels muzzy, as though he's been woken from a dream. He rubs his tingling hands against his legs and clears his throat.

"When Loren gets that glass, let me know and I'll put it in for you."

Dr Mike turns towards him and he wonders if he's imagining the flush on her cheeks. "Thank you, Sully.

"You're welcome."

He stands there for a moment, eyes locked with hers. They make him think of damp earth, moss. A cool place to lie down in the shade.

Then Emily's boy coughs and Colorado Springs rushes back. Dr Mike turns to her patient and Sully steps out into the morning, feeling that the world has shifted just a little under his feet.

* * *

the epigraph is from romeo and juliet, which is probably obvious, but you never know.


	6. the second one that did (Happy Birthday)

Spending so much time around people had gotten to be too much, all those opinions and expectations smothering him. Sully couldn't shake the sense that he was being herded, like a prize bull. What he needed was space to think. So he left Cloud Dancing and the reservation and simply walked, for miles and hours. Wolf sometimes padded beside him and sometimes ranged off on his own business. Afternoon passed into evening and Sully walked through the twilight, letting the rhythm of his pace quiet the turmoil inside him, letting the colours of the sky soothe him.

The weather was unseasonable for February. But while the days were warmer than usual, the chill of winter came creeping back with the dark. Sully didn't mind the cold. He liked to feel the change in the air, the prickle and sting of his skin as the temperature fell. It reminded him that he was alive in the world, a part of it.

Ahead of him, a pair of rough-legged hawks were roosting as the first stars came out. In the fading light they appeared as silhouettes against the sky, merging into the tree. One moment it was as if the branches were themselves alive, calling, and in the next came a great stillness, a hush. To Sully these daily metamorphoses were a kind of holiness, greater than anything to be found in a church. The world expanded around them like the ripples of a stone tossed into a still pool: each act, for a few heartbeats, the centre.

It was the kind of thing he thought sometimes he'd like to share with Dr Mike. The more he knew her, the more difficult it became to resist giving up pieces of himself to her. But some part of him held back, some part still wasn't quite sure what to make of what they were to each other.

Best friends, Matthew had said. Sully didn't think that was quite it. If asked, he would've said Cloud Dancing was his best friend. Before that, it had been Daniel. When Sully considered it, he realised there hadn't been many women in his life at all, not in any important way. As a boy there'd been his mother and, later, Daniel's sister. In the mining camps there was sometimes a wife or a sister, though mostly they lived separate from the men. Then there'd been Abagail. She'd been pretty and sweet, and falling in love with her had been easy, like walking into a warm spring, the water gradually enclosing him.

Sully fingered the long braid he wore in her memory. He still carried her with him like a dull ache under his breast, but thinking about her now no longer made him feel scooped out and hollowed. He'd loved her with his whole heart, and if she'd lived he would've been a good husband to her, a good father to their children. He was sure of that.

They'd been happy. A simple, uncomplicated happiness. But he'd changed since she died, since he'd found a new family with the Cheyenne. And he looked back sometimes on the man he'd been and didn't like what he saw. It felt disloyal to her, but at times he wondered if the man he'd become could have been happy with Abagail. The answer stung.

A swift, pale shape glided silently overhead and was gone. A barn owl out hunting for its supper. The sky was almost fully dark now, just a hint of orange staining the edges of the horizon. Sully's breath misted in front of him as he exhaled and finally turned back towards camp. He whistled for Wolf and tucked his hands into his pockets as he walked, faster now, thinking about friendship, about love.

There were things he'd kept from Abagail: things he felt he needed to protect her from, things it just didn't occur to him to share with her. It wasn't like that with Dr Mike, even when he tried. If she suspected he was keeping something from her, she'd just pry it out of him, he thought wryly. And though as a rule he wasn't much for conversation, he enjoyed talking with her, sharing ideas. He'd never known anyone who thought so much about so many things.

What they had seemed to him to go beyond friendship, somewhere he'd never been with anyone else before. He felt a certain possessiveness about her that disturbed him. A woman wasn't a thing to be owned and yet Dr Mike belonged to him in some fundamental way. And he belonged to her. She'd saved his life and he'd saved hers. That bound them together in something more elemental than friendship.

But the most dangerous feelings were the ones that made him restless, made him think about things he had no right to. How sometimes when she smiled he felt as though he'd had the wind knocked out of him. How much he liked the scent of her on his clothes, his skin. How the thought of her with another man made him a little sick in his gut.

Sully tried to shake off his thoughts as he neared camp. Out of habit, he set about making a fire. As the kindling lit and began to smoke and curl, he couldn't help but remember what Jake had said to Dr Mike. _I love you. I always have._ It was the DTs talking, Sully knew; Jake had been out of his head, seeing things and talking to people that weren't there. But somehow he'd known exactly who she was when he spoke to her. And the way he'd said it, like a man swearing his devotion. Sully frowned into the flames as he fed them.

What did Jake Slicker know about love?

It was true that Sully had no great liking for Jake. The man had a smallness, a meanness in him that made Sully wary. That didn't mean Sully wanted him to die. But he wasn't a good man, wasn't a man who had any hope of being worthy of Dr Mike.

_You're the most beautiful thing I ever saw._

Of course she was beautiful. Sully had eyes, just like every other man in town. But it was a kind of beauty that could fool you. She looked delicate, even fragile, but underneath she was stronger than most people would suspect. It was that strength that had first intrigued him all those months ago when she'd arrived in town. He'd watched her fall face down in the mud and pick herself up again and keep on going. It was that stubbornness, that persistence, that he'd been drawn to before he'd ever seen her face.

He thought of their conversation that morning. Or had it been an argument? For days he'd watched her fight for Jake's life; watched her struggle to save the man from himself; admired her courage and compassion. He heard again his own words as though he were saying them for the first time. _I understand you can't force a man to do something he's not ready to do._

It was himself he was talking about as much as Jake.

With the fire built up, Sully sat back and just watched it for a while. The flames created a cocoon of light that seemed to close out the rest of the night. As if there was nothing and no one else. But when he looked up there were thousands and thousands of stars pinpricked against a sky so vast one man could never hope to see it all.

Again he heard his echo from the morning. _You think you can change what he does, what he feels?_

But Dr Mike wasn't trying to change him, he knew. It wasn't her fault that he was all tied up in knots inside, even if she was the reason. The change was coming from within him, slow but sure like the turn of the seasons. He was only struggling against himself. Taking it out on her was wrong.

Tiny sparks sifted into the air and vanished as one of the larger logs shifted on the fire. Sully pushed it back into place with another piece of wood. It was time to get some supper for himself, but he couldn't seem to stop seeing Dr Mike's face from the morning. She'd looked so sad and worried over Jake. And then defeated after she let him go. As if it were all somehow her responsibility; as if she was letting him down.

It had hurt her to do it, Sully knew. It had been hard for her. But she did it. Because it was right. Almost a year now that he'd known her, and still she kept surprising him.

Caught somewhere between the flames and the bowl of the sky, Sully finally had it figured. When everything came down to it, it was such a simple thing. He wanted to make her happy. And Matthew was right. Going to her birthday party would make her happy.

So he'd go.

-o-

On Thursday evening, Sully slipped into the shadows of the clinic porch and stood well back from the waiting crowd. There would be stares and comments soon enough. All he wanted was to give Dr Mike her gift first, without an audience.

He'd given a lot of thought to the pattern for the saddle bags. It was important that the bottles and instruments fit exactly right so that nothing could fall or break. He had Colleen to thank for helping him with the right shapes and measurements for the pockets.

Robert E had lent him the tools and Sully had spent several days working the leather, stitching the pieces together slowly, making sure the tension and fit were perfect. It was the sort of meditative task he enjoyed, and the more he worked the more confident he felt in his decision. Where the idea came from to get all dressed up, he couldn't say. It blossomed in his mind as he worked, as he thought about Dr Mike and what would make her happy.

The look on her face when he stepped out into the light made every minute he'd spent on his appearance worth it. Her surprise would have been comical but for the way his heart beat a little faster in his chest as she looked at him, as she smiled.

For some reason the act of giving her the gift made him self conscious. He fumbled as he tried to explain, her expression so sweetly earnest that he got lost in it. This gift, his presence: he wanted her to understand that she was special. To him, not just to the town. But the words melted away as she looked at him, as they so often did.

"Thank you, Sully," she said, and he felt suddenly as if somehow they were having two conversations at one time. One was what they said, the other what they meant.

Then she leaned in and kissed his cheek. She was so close, the scent of her surrounding him. It was so brief, her mouth like a butterfly wing against his skin, her soft cheek brushing his. Only a moment, a blink, then it was over almost before it began. But she was still so close. He hardly had to turn his head at all. There was no thought, only his eyes falling to her lips as if it were natural, as if this was how it was meant to be between them, so nearly touching, their bodies listing towards each other inevitably. The kiss was the barest movement of his mouth on hers, the lightest touch, no more than a whisper of breath between them, then over, like a sigh.

He pulled away and her closed eyes opened. The tiny frown between her brows eased as she looked at him, as if she were asking a silent question.

Tonight he had no answers, for either of them. Instead, he offered her his hand. And when she placed her slender fingers in his palm it felt as though she was giving him something else, something more than just her hand. And he held it, her hand, whatever it meant, for the short time it took them to walk to Grace's. And it felt right.

* * *

**notes:** The first part of this is essentially my attempt to understand the emotional path Sully took from freaking out about the idea of attending the birthday party to being there all dressed up with a really thoughtful gift. I would've liked it to be slightly less of a big wall o' narration, but I was unsatisfied with Sully's talk with Cloud Dancing and there really isn't anyone else he'd confide in. So he just had to work it out for himself; which, while in character, is maybe not the most interesting thing to read.

Also, February 13, 1868 really was a Thursday. I looked it up. :)


	7. one that didn't after one that did (HB)

Someone had spiked the punch. Not all of it, just what Dr Mike was drinking. Sully couldn't prove anything, but he and Hank would be having a serious talk come the morning.

Tonight he had a disarmingly intoxicated Dr Mike to deal with.

She seemed quite happy to walk with him away from the lights and noise of the party. They moved easily into the darkness and quiet of the rest of town. Their steps made a rhythmic crunch over the dry, packed dirt, the sound strangely flat in the still air.

Soon they found themselves back where they'd started a few hours before. Dr Mike sat down on the steps to the clinic, her face tilted up to the sky. "They almost look like snowflakes, don't they?" she said. "The stars, I mean."

Sully took off his coat and settled it around her shoulders. The night was starting to get cold and she was only wearing a thin blouse. He sat next to her, following her gaze. "I never thought of it like that. I suppose they do."

"But they never fall," she said, something wistful in her voice.

A last quarter moon was making its slow way overhead, lending its light to the steady glow of the porch lantern. After a time, Sully's eyes drifted down from the sky, drawn by the woman next to him. As much as he loved the stars, he was helpless against the pull of Michaela Quinn.

He watched as a slight, stray breeze ruffled the wisps of hair at her temple. This close, the delicate shape of her ear drew him in and he had an almost overwhelming urge to trace its edge with the tip of one finger. His eyes followed the path down from her dainty earlobe, along the line of her jaw to the point of her chin. The white plain of her throat lay bared by the tilt of her head and he could see the faint pulse of her blood beating there. A sudden, visceral recollection of kissing her gripped him.

"I think I might be a little drunk," she said softly, eyes still on the stars.

Sully cleared his throat. "I think you might be right."

"I've never been drunk before."

"You feel okay? Not sick or anythin'?"

She closed her eyes, as though to concentrate. "I feel... fuzzy," she said after a moment. "And everything is a little wobbly. It's not unpleasant."

Her eyes remained closed and Sully wondered if she'd simply fall asleep that way. The smudged fans of her lashes seemed so dark against her pale skin. He'd rarely ever had a chance to see her like this unless one of them was sick or injured. But here they were alone, and she was relaxed and peaceful. If it had been his own birthday, he couldn't have imagined himself a better present.

"Sully?"

"Yeah?"

"There was something in the punch, wasn't there?"

"I think so."

"I'm sure I'll be angry about it tomorrow. Right now I'm just happy."

"That's good," he said. "You're supposed to be happy on your birthday."

"It's been such a lovely night." She opened her eyes, finally, and turned towards him. "So unexpected."

"Everyone wanted to surprise you."

"You did."

And just like that, they weren't talking about the the party, now, or the clinic sign. Caught up in the pleasure of looking at her, he hadn't noticed that they were sitting so close, their faces only inches apart.

"You have the bluest eyes," she said, "even in the dark."

Something in her voice, some intensity, made his hands flex against the urge to touch her. Sully eased back a little, to distance himself from temptation, but she simply followed him, leaning into the space he'd created.

"Dr Mike," he began, "I think—"

"You never call me by my name," she interrupted. "No one does, except Hank, and I don't like the way he says it. But I'm sure I'd like it if you did."

A flash of heat flowed through him. The idea of calling her Michaela had always seemed so intimate, somehow. In the rational part of his mind, Sully knew she'd be embarrassed in the morning by what she was telling him now and he should try to stop her from saying anything else. But the rest of him was fast succumbing to her artless confessions. He badly wanted to hear more.

As if she knew what he was thinking, she went on. "I liked it when you kissed me." Her gaze fell to his mouth. "Do you think you might do it again sometime?"

Sully's hands gripped tight to the boards underneath him. Kissing was the very last thing he ought to be doing. Yet some traitorous corner of his mind whispered that if he kissed her again she'd stop telling him things she'd later regret.

"I shouldn't," he managed, as much to himself as to her.

"Why not?"

"You're not yourself right now."

"Oh? Who am I, then?"

Knowing that she likely wasn't aware how provocative the playful quirk of her lips was didn't make it any easier for him to resist. "I just mean that you're not too clear-headed."

"Does that mean you do want to kiss me again, Sully?"

He made a strangled noise. It was impossible to win an argument with her even when she was drunk. Especially when she was so innocently seductive. Taking a deep breath, he tried one more time. "You don't know what you're sayin' right now. Just trust me, all right?"

"I do trust you," she said.

And then she kissed him.

It was as sweet and unexpected as their first kiss had been. The press of her lips against his lasted for a beat. Then two. And when she pulled away he knew it hadn't been long enough. Not nearly.

"That was nice," she whispered, her mouth still very close to his.

"Yes," he heard himself say as his fingers rose to stroke her cheek. She filled him with so much that he'd tried so hard not to feel, and now, tonight, he'd was all out of defences.

Her hands crept up to his shoulders and he didn't know which one of them moved first but they were kissing again, soft and slow. So slow. Warm. At the gentle pressure of his finger on her chin, she opened her mouth under his and the breath shuddered out of him. All his foolish pretending shattered under the fierce weight of his desire. Her lips were so soft, so sweet, and the world outside the two of them just slipped away.

His fingers slid up into the heavy mass of her hair, hair he'd been longing to touch again since the day she'd let him brush it. It was as cornsilk soft as he remembered, warm from her body. He cradled her head in his hands and it seemed much too small to hold everything this woman was, everything she meant to him.

Their kisses were continuous now, each blurring into the next. She made a quiet sound of pleasure in her throat and it burned all through him. His hands left her hair and came around her back to pull her hard against him. Soft and supple. Heat everywhere they touched. He willingly lost himself in the feel of her. They lost themselves together.

An owl hooted nearby.

Sully jerked back, his heart pounding. He had no idea how long they'd been sitting there, caught up in each other. His conscience berated him even as his body thrummed and sparked.

They stared in silence until he remembered that his arms were still around her. "I'm sorry," he said as he eased himself away. "I shouldn't have let that happen."

"There's no need to apologise, Sully. We were both... participating." Her cheeks were flushed and her mouth was still wet from his. It took all of his self control not to pull her back into his arms. He shifted a little further from her.

"I just... don't want you to regret... anythin'."

She gave him one of those smiles that seemed to suck the air right from his lungs. "I won't," she said. "I promise."

He hoped she'd still feel that way in the morning.

"And you, Sully? Will you regret anything?"

"No," he told her honestly. Even if she hated him come tomorrow, he couldn't regret a single moment he'd spent with her tonight.

She smiled again, softly this time, and looked down at her hands. "I'm glad."

"There's not a thing in this life I can imagine that I'd regret less than kissin' you."

"Oh," she said, faintly, a blush rising in her cheeks.

"Well." Sully stood up before he gave in to the urge to kiss her again. "Maybe I should take you back to Grace's now. It's gettin' late." He offered her his hand and she took it, as easily as she had the last time they'd stood here together. So many echoes tonight, he thought.

When she started to remove his coat, he shook his head. "No, you keep it. It's gonna get colder before you get home."

"Thank you."

He nodded, feeling strangely tongue-tied.

They began to retrace their earlier steps, slowly moving back towards the noise of the party.

"Would you like to come for supper tomorrow night?" she asked, adding "I can return your coat," as if he needed any inducement to see her.

"I'd like that."

As if by agreement, they slowed to a stop and lingered just at the edge of the spill of light from Grace's lanterns. Every face in the crowd was as familiar to Sully as his own, but the one that mattered, the only one he seemed to look for anymore, was right beside him.

He reached out and took her hand one last time for the night. Their breath misted in the cold air, intermingling between them. "Happy birthday, Michaela."

The smile she gave him was wide and bright, dazzling. "I knew I'd like it."

He laughed; he couldn't help it. She looked so pleased with herself.

"Thank you, Sully," she said again.

"For what?"

"For coming tonight. For my gift." She looked down to where their fingers were entwined. "For... everything."

His heart lurched and the words he'd only ever said to one woman almost tumbled from his lips. Then she raised her eyes to his again, so completely unaware of the tumult within him, and the words vanished.

"You're welcome," he said instead.

"Good night, Sully," she said as she slipped her hand from his.

He stepped back, hands empty, heart full. "Good night."

* * *

**note:** in no way am i advocating the drugging of people without their consent! that's assault. however, on one of my rewatches of this episode, it occurred to me that while jake specifically says he didn't spike michaela's drink, someone else might have. and it would be sort of adorable to see her lose some of her inhibitions with sully. so, uh, this happened. it kept trying to be angsty and i had to wrangle it back into fluffy submission. also, did you know that NASA has a catalogue of 6000 years worth of moon phases? well they do!


End file.
